We Must Bear What Heaven Sends.

Our Safety Is Not In Blindness, But In Facing Our Dangers.

Why Should I Deem Myself To Be A Chisel, When I Could Be The Artist?

Joy, Thou Spark From Heav'n Immortal, Daughter Of Elysium! Drunk With Fire, Toward Heaven Advancing Goddess, To Thy Shrine We Come. Thy Sweet Magic Brings Together What Stern Custom Spreads Afar; All Men Become Brothers Where Thy Happy Wing-beats Are.

Measure Not By The Scale Of Perfection The Meager Product Of Reality.

There Are Evil Spirits Who Suddenly Fix Their Abode In Man's Unguarded Breast, Causing Us To Commit Devilish Deeds, And Then, Hurrying Back To Their Native Hell, Leave Behind The Stings Of Remorse In The Poisoned Bosom.